Doorway
by Semebay
Summary: Something written for IO Echo's "Doorway." Unresolved issues, Arthur's insecurities, and one-sided love. Angst.


**Original Publication Date: **March 21, 2010

* * *

_It hurt._

Arthur wasn't one to dwell on the past. He could try to forget the Revolution (it had been two hundred years, after all). He could let go of 1812. He could forget all about it. It didn't have to bother him anymore. Birthdays? What did they have to do with him? He just didn't like dealing with them because of that bastard's pompous way of doing things, the aggravating way he bragged and boasted. It was annoying, a pain in the ass.

_But not really._

He didn't know if Alfred was purposely doing it or not. He would call them subtle hints, _but the bastard was completely oblivious! To everything!_

Arthur held on tightly to his pride. If there was one thing he refused to give up, it was his pride, his honor. He would _not_ do anything stupid. Alfred's god damned spontaneity? His fucking "advances" (if they could be called that)? His… Arthur shivered. He couldn't count how many times the man had barged into his house, or his _hotel room_, demanding food, movies, _entertainment._

_Bloody annoying._

But he couldn't take the boy's _clinginess_ any longer. It was too much.

Far too much.

Arthur groaned and leaned his back against the headboard of the hotel bed. Alfred had tried to get him to go out to eat, but he had refused. Then he had tried to take him to a movie (probably a horror movie, pathetic git).

The point was, it all had to stop. Arthur _liked_ the boy, he really did. But Alfred was too overbearing, and there would be misunderstandings if it all continued. He understood perfectly. If there were misunderstandings, then he would lose his friendship.

Arthur sighed and let himself slide down on the bed, glaring at the door, and then slowly shutting his eyes. He almost expected the knocking to begin, for the younger nation to burst in and demand a movie (or crawl into bed with him if he'd already _seen_ a movie).

Arthur pulled the switch and bathed the room in darkness, pulling the blankets around him tightly. He wasn't coming. Thank god.

The meetings were becoming slower and slower. He found it difficult to argue with Alfred's plans and France's lecherous movements, even though the two others always had something that he could easily pick apart and scorn, something that he could use against them.

"Your plan to _save_ the ozone is a bunch of shit," Arthur snapped, and Alfred looked back at him in shock. "For one, it blocks the rays from the sun. Rays that we _need_ to sustain life. For another, there is no _possible_ way to actually put your plan into motion. Why don't you start doing research and learn about what you're doing before you start wasting our time with ideas that have no chance of being executed or of any help?"

Alfred stared at him, his mouth agape as Arthur clicked his suitcase shut and locked it. "If this is the most we ever get out of these meetings, then so be it. I don't think we've ever been through a meeting that actually accomplished something. Everyone here knows that the representatives are the ones that make the real decisions. I'm going home."

With that, he was gone.

Arthur couldn't remember ever walking out on a meeting before (though he may have back in his punk days—there were a lot of things he couldn't remember from back then). It was rather exhilarating. He could leave, return to England. And being in his own home, away from the idiots in the meetings, meant that Alfred wouldn't disturb his sleep again (because he had woken him up at one in the fucking morning that day, the bloody git).

Arthur wasted no time in going to his room, packing his things, and preparing his suitcase. His boss would be disappointed, but he really didn't care. He was done kissing up to the people that were supposedly in charge of him. After all, could they control the land? Did all of England and the UK actually agree with his boss? There would be people that were on opposite ends of the spectrum, and in that way, no one had ever truly controlled him. He had simply let everything run its path, and he was sick of it.

He wanted a change.

He wanted out.

He didn't pick up his phone when it rang.

He simply sat in his kitchen, sipped his tea. He had found the first flight and returned home, long before anyone would bother to check for him in his room. He imagined that they would be (or had been) rather surprised to find it empty and deserted, but he found the thought more amusing than anything else.

_"Hey, Arthur? Are you feeling okay? Listen, I know you didn't really agree with me at the meeting, an' I was wondering if it was 'cause of the stuff goin' on. Your boss said there're a lotta protests right now, an' I thought that maybe that was getting' you down. Oh! How 'bout you come visit? I just got these new movies, an-"_

_Beep._

The answering machine shut off, Arthur's finger pressed firmly to the power button. He should leave. He could go to his apartment in Sussex, get away from the house. Alfred's calls were becoming more frequent, and he was sure that soon enough he would be marching up his front steps and pounding on his door, demanding entrance and food. Going to Sussex would be the wisest decision; no one would find him (they didn't even know he _had_ an apartment in Sussex).

Arthur didn't bother packing his bags. He simply locked the door behind him, and fled.


End file.
